


That Man of Mine

by Heathersparrows



Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love
Genre: Character Dying, Harassment, M/M, Minor Character Death, Nazi Germany
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 10:36:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15884337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heathersparrows/pseuds/Heathersparrows
Summary: Dorian has to grow up.Sequel to "A Man Like That".





	That Man of Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anne-Li (Anneli)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anneli/gifts).



That Man Of Mine

When Dorian arrived back at Gloria Estate, he wore the “I always get what I want“-smile on his face. The smile almost faltered, though, as Bonham noted when he took his employer’s bag and coat.

//Something hasn’t gone as planned …//

“Bonham, dear, the seats on the plane were so cramped. I need a little exercise. I’ll just hop into the shower. Will you ask Bethany to have Stardust ready for me, there’s a dear?”

Not a word to answer the question which was on the minds of the whole Gloria household, including Bethany’s, head of the stables at Gloria Estate.

She nodded to Bonham when he entered, and interrupted cleaning Arrowhead’s box. 

Arrowhead, a white Arab, came over and nudged Bonham’s shoulder. He knew there were always goodies in the man’s pockets, and Bonham dutifully produced a carrot, which was eagerly taken.

“Mornin’,” Bonham said, stroking Arrowhead’s soft muzzle. 

“Mornin’.” Bethany took up the fork again.

“’E’s back,” Bonham said. 

“Saw his car,” Bethany answered, forking new straw into Arrowhead’s box. 

Arrowhead nuzzled the pocket of Bonham’s jacket. There was more in there, and the man didn’t pay enough attention to the important things, in his opinion.

“’E wants Stardust ready,” Bonham said, absentmindedly feeding Arrowhead an apple. 

“Okay,” Bethany answered. She had finished her work and lead Arrowhead back into his box. “And?”

Bonham shrugged.

“No’ a word.” 

“Uh-oh,” the tall woman commented and went to saddle her employer’s favourite horse.

//That sums it up,// Bonham thought. //Sums it up quite well.//

The evening at the Major’s must have taken an unexpected turn. A much unexpected turn, even for Lord Gloria, who had grown accustomed to being rebuffed and insulted by the headstrong, abrasive German. Remained to see whether Milord would come forth with some details to bring light into the matter.

At the moment, though, he was far from doing so. Unusually subdued, he entered the stables, nodded to Bethany, led Stardust into the yard, mounted the horse and rode away. 

Appearing quiet and thoughtful on the outside, inwardly Dorian’s thoughts were reeling, racing as fast as the bushes and fields rushing past him. He had assumed to know the Major a little, to be a bit prepared to counter the man’s reactions to his steady passes; had thought to know the passion glowing behind the strict morality and almost cruel self-discipline. Far from it.

Dorian forced Stardust into an even harder gallop.

He had tried to wake this passion, masked behind abrasiveness, rudeness and flaming anger – and the entire time he hadn’t had the slightest idea what this passion really was – a naked, merciless urge to destroy, to hurt, to kill. The urge was curbed by strict discipline and training from an early age; the Major obeyed a strong code of ethics instilled into him; but otherwise he was an unfeeling machine – incapable of feeling remorse, let alone love – this was what his beloved Major really was!

At least – this was what the Major said he was. 

Dorian reined in the horse, slowed him down. Stardust snorted and shook his mane. Dorian patted his neck.

“But his eyes – you should have seen his eyes!” he said to the horse. 

Stardust snorted again, if in agreement or disdain, Dorian couldn’t have said. Most probably, he was just impatient and wanted to run again. Dorian did him the favour, and his thoughts raced like the fast pace of man and horse again.

Was it true? The Major had been serious, deeply serious. He was too straightforward to be a good actor. Or was he? He was an agent after all – but no, if Dorian could believe anything about the man – he had been sincere in what he said, deeply sincere. But that look in his eyes behind the flaming cold stare – it had been there for a second: Pain and a deep sadness – or had it? Had it just been a figment of Dorian’s romantic imagination, a wish of his mind to counter what he had heard the Major say? –

Instinctively, he ducked a low-hanging branch, which brought him back to where he was, on the back of a fast-galloping horse.

No, he hadn’t been mistaken – this look in the Major’s eyes had been there for a moment. But what did this mean? Did it mean the Major didn’t know himself as well as he thought?

“And what does this mean to me?!” he shouted into the wind, seized by a sudden bout of frustration and disappointment, “what about me?!”

Stardust, frightened by his rider’s sudden outburst, whinnied and reared. Dorian needed all his agility and skills as a rider to stay in the saddle and calm the horse, make him slow down and finally stop. He dismounted and stroked Stardust’s neck, head and muzzle.

“Sorry, boy,” he murmured. “I didn’t want to frighten you. – Know what? At the moment, I’d like to be a horse. You know when you want a mare, and when she’s ready for you. If she’s not ready, she’ll kick you, and you’ll find another one who’s ready. Alright, then again, in the case of a horse like you, it might be an arranged marriage, rather.” 

Dorian paused. Stardust impatiently threw up his head and grunted, as if to say “I don’t have the foggiest what you’re talking about, Mate. But if it helps you to talk …”

He nuzzled Dorian’s shoulder. Dorian presented him an apple, which Stardust gracefully accepted.

“Human relationships can be very complicated,” Dorian continued. “At the moment – oh well –“

He mounted Stardust again and clicked his tongue. The horse fell into a canter, but he had not calmed down fully, danced sideward and had to be reined in again.

His sudden outburst had not only shaken his horse, but also Dorian himself. Nevertheless, the question remained: What would he do now? Childishly wallow in the misery of a rejected suitor? He had done that already. Take the “I always get what I want”-stance of a spoilt brat? Out of the question as well. Yes, he always got what he wanted, but in this case, he wasn’t even sure he wanted what he’d get – or better: if he would be able to cope with what he’d get. This was no longer a game – well, to be honest, his efforts concerning the Major had ceased to be a game a good time ago. He just pretended to forget this fact sometimes. But it was true, he didn’t only want the Major for a night, he had begun to dream of a few nights together … And, for a fact, not only nights, but days, too, having conversations, coming to know the reserved man a little better – a dream from which the Major had shaken him brutally awake. He hadn’t been aware how strongly his dream of being together with the Major had determined his every thought and action. And now he realized that the Major had pulled away the proverbial carpet under his feet.

Dorian sighed. He felt he had so much to think about that he could have been on Stardust all day, galloping away, never to return.

Stardust snorted. He sounded annoyed, as if he had read Dorian’s thoughts. 

“Oh, alright, boy, it’s time to get back,” Dorian agreed. He turned the horse around. “Frankly, I’m at a complete loss what to do.”

Assuming that the Major had spoken the truth (part of him still hoped everything had been a cruel pretension to frighten him off for good – but no – this was so much against the Major’s nature; he must have spoken the truth), how could he love a cold-hearted killer who said he didn’t feel anything, who was unable to love? Didn’t the Major feel at least something for Herr Hinkel, who had had raised him from the stage of a helpless baby onwards; had seen the first signs of abnormal behaviour and had not shied away from the task his employer, Klaus’s father, had imposed on him; had tutored his ward strictly and lovingly instead? Or for the Sister, who had guided Klaus through his school days? He had spoken of both with respect. Did he feel a kind of trained gratitude, perhaps? – So many questions. Dorian felt he could get lost in this maze of unanswered questions.

He sighed and clicked his tongue, giving rein. Stardust whinnied as if to say “now you’re talking”, and again went into full gallop.

The main question was: Did he want a man in his life that was unable to reciprocate his feelings? Could he love a man who killed? Surely, Klaus was sent out to kill drug lords, corrupt politicians, warlords, serial killers and the like, merciless creatures themselves who didn’t lose any sleep over the lives they destroyed. Such people, if powerful, were often heavily guarded, frequently by killers such as themselves. But didn’t even drug dealers, warlords or corrupt politicians have families sometimes? Didn’t their guards have women or children who loved them, maybe? If you killed an evil person it could well be you brought misery to innocent people as well. – Someone like the Major would always wait for an opportunity to find his target alone to take him – or her – out, of course. But there might occur situations where this was impossible, so he would have to kill innocent people, too – women, children. “Collateral damage” – how much Dorian hated this word! The Major, however, would never feel any regret. Could he love such a man? The romantic notion of “Love conquers all” was at its limits here, obviously.

Another question: What would loving a man like that do to him? He liked to think of himself as a person who abhorred violence. With remorse and fear he had been forced to see that he himself had a cruel streak, when he had pursued the young professor, Caesar Gabriel; and Caesar’s friends had invaded Castle Gloria to rescue him. He had actually given order to kill the two youngsters – more to put pressure on Caesar than actually meaning it and revoked a few moments later, true, but nevertheless – This had been the only occasion during their long years together – was it ten already? – that Bonham had yelled at him afterwards.

“What ‘as gotten into you?! ‘Ave you gone stark ravin’ mad?! Orderin’ us about to kill a pair of youngsters, settin’ James off?! You know ‘ow ‘e is! You whistle, and off ‘e goes! Don’t you even think for a moment? Imagine, just imagine what would’ve been the outcome! Two dead bodies on your ‘ands! And this would’ve been it for me, believe me! Oi’d ‘ave been off through this door o’er there faster than you’d be able to say ‘’Elp me solve this mess!’ – This time, you’ve gone too far! Get off’f the boy, you’re tormenting ‘im, don’t you see?! Leave ‘im be! It may be well and good with your ‘Oi always get what Oi want’-stuff, but people aren’t paintings for God’s sake! – Oi ‘aven’t ever seen you be’ave like this before, and, frankly; Oi ‘ope Oi’ll never see you do something like today ever again!”

To see his calm, good-natured second-in-command that angry had shaken up Dorian a lot. He himself had disliked what he had seen this day about the cruel streak in his nature, and he had paid attention to curb it from this day on.

And now – would loving a man like the Major, loving him with seeing eyes – not fuel the dark side in him again? What would this do to him?

And yet another question: Could he ever tell the truth about the Major to his men? At least to Bonham? He would have liked to confide in his calm, sturdy friend, but at the same time feared his reaction. He feared it would be too much for Bonham and he would leave for good this time. They all might leave, if they learned the truth. And he liked them. They had become his friends. But he could not tell them the truth. That would be much too dangerous.

Couldn’t he simply do the Major’s bidding and forget him? The thought was tempting. This would take all the troubles away in one stroke – and yet he felt it would make him unhappy forever.

//”Can’t help loving that man of mine”,// he thought bitterly when he dismounted and lead Stardust to his box to take the saddle from his back and wipe him off. //Now better put up a light face.//

Klaus von dem Eberbach had finished a mission in Mexico. One of the missions which he undertook alone. There was another corrupt, power-crazed politician less in the world, one who had been a slave trader, too. Child traffic. He had seen the cages in which the children were kept, to be sold into bordellos or as playthings to bastards who would pay enough, or for snuff movies. No way to treat children. He had done his job. It was up to Colonel Garcia and his men, though, to make the arrests and free the children. He would take a few hours of sleep – if he could. Sleep had fled him lately.

For a long time, he had thought of himself as a well-maintained, effective machine. It was his job to kill people who were killers themselves, to protect the innocent, women, children, harmless civilians. There were few people he trusted – Herr Hinkel, the Sister, his father, his team of Alphabets, but he had never been able to harbour any sentimental feelings for them.

The blond angel, that thievish Brit, had been nothing but a damn nuisance in the beginning. When had things become different? He couldn’t say. Why did he think about him at all, now?

He had done everything in his power to frighten off the pernicious, sneaky little bastard. But would this idiot listen?

The Major lit a cigarette.

He even had told this foppish pervert the truth about himself. Anybody else with a spark of his senses about him would have had enough from this point onward at least, would have seen that a relationship with a killing machine was out of the question. Not this man. He had seen it in his eyes, behind the pain, the horror, the disappointment, the doubt … 

And something in him, a little part, had reacted to the pain in these eyes, when the truth had finally registered. It was the same part that had noted the deep sadness and – love? – in Herr Hinkel’s eyes and voice when he had told him he wouldn’t have to live much longer. This small part made him uneasy, this ache in his heart. He knew there was nothing wrong organically, the NATO doctors always gave him a clean bill of health. The Major knew he would miss Herr Hinkel, as if a part of himself would go to the grave with the man. And – damn, damn, damn – this part of him had felt something like regret when he had seen the golden angel leave Schloss Eberbach so beaten … 

This feeling for the Brit was illogical. Herr Hinkel – yes, Herr Hinkel had always been there, had been his mentor and his teacher, had shaped him into what he was now – it was logical that he would miss him. But this Brit? He was merely annoying – a crook and a thief at that – and yet so full of life – innocent, in a way. It would be a violation of everything instilled into him to destroy this man.

Almost violently, he stubbed out his cigarette and lit a new one. 

At first, he had managed to keep this small part of himself at bay through rigid exercise and training, and an even tighter schedule. He could not allow such thoughts to interfere with his precision and effectiveness. He had tried to kill this small part of himself – in vain. So he had told Herr Hinkel, had asked him, in fact, what he could do to snuff out or at least forget this small part of himself – which at times seemed to be stronger than his urge to kill. 

“You cannot kill what is part of yourself. And what part of yourself you try to subdue and silence, will come out one day when you least expect it and will hit you in the face with full force.”

“What should I do then, instead?”

“Take time to look at it closely. Examine it. Accept it and make it a part of what you are.”

Maybe it was time to do just that. But how? How could he accept that he perhaps could feel – not like everybody else, but maybe just a little, for a few people – and at the same time be as precise and effective as usual?

Time was running out. He needed Herr Hinkel’s advice again, as long as the old man would be able to advise him.

 

Dorian avoided his usual “Hello I’m back”-entrance, slipped out of the stables and into the house as stealthily as possible, went up to his suite and stepped into the shower again, turning the cold water tap. For a moment, the cold took his breath away, and the carousel of thoughts in his head stopped. When he could stand the cold no longer, he opened the hot water tap and slowly brought the water to a bearable temperature.

He would not be able to give up the Major. Maybe with a little bit of time, the cruel streak in his own nature might even help him to better accept what the Major was. - He had to contact the man again. But not the Major in person. At least not immediately. If he was to achieve anything, he would have to approach someone close to the Major. Not one of the Alphabets; he doubted that Herr A, B, G, Z or anyone else of the team would know more about a mission than they needed to know. If the mission was to find a microfilm somewhere hidden in the Louvre or the Museum of Natural History in London, they would go about their work. And if the Major absented himself during this mission for a few hours, because he had other, deadlier, orders, none of them would ask any questions.

The Chief? As the Major’s superior, he must know about the Major’s orders. He was an old fox, playing the role of a nincompoop very well. But maybe, if Dorian stirred up too many murky waters at NATO Secret Service, this could become very uncomfortable for him – and for people close to him – maybe even for the Major himself.

So, who to approach? The Sister? It wouldn’t do any harm to look into her, but she, too, was in the spider’s web of a powerful organization – the Catholic Church. If he asked questions, especially about her relationship to one of her former pupils at that boarding school, her Mother Superior would learn about that, and God knew who else. Probably the Major himself. And this could become very uncomfortable for him, too.

Herr Hinkel? He was still closest to the Major, must know him very well. If he could gain Herr Hinkel’s trust, convince him of his serious intentions towards the Major – but would the old man ever go behind Graf Eberbach’s or Master Klaus’s back? 

Dorian closed the taps, stepped from the shower and towelled himself dry.

No, he would go to the source, to the man who had set everything in motion: Graf Clemens Heinrich von dem Eberbach, the Major’s father.

He wiped clear the steamed-over mirror and looked at his image: A sharp, noble nose, strong jaws, dark blue eyes; the whole face a bit long all in all, when his wild curls hung down to his shoulders in a wet mess. He tried a smile.

“Frankly, I feel a bit nauseated about the whole thing. A little as if I hadn’t done my maths homework and were to face Professor Severin again. Only worse.”

He pulled a face at the mirror and went to dress himself.

Now he had at least an idea on how to proceed. 

 

Major Klaus von dem Eberbach slipped into the room almost noiselessly. He went to the bed and looked at the old man lying there. Asleep. He looked at his watch. There was still time. He decided to wait.

He didn’t have to wait long. The old man opened his eyes, and a weak smile of recognition lit up his emaciated features.

“So you’ve come, Master Klaus.”

The Major knew about death. He often brought death to people without ever feeling any regret. He had seen men dying cowering in fear; fighting back like wild animals; with hatred or disdain on their faces. Rarely had he found acceptance, as he saw now in the features of the old man. He felt a strange pain in his chest again. This old man here in the bed did not deserve to die, not to die in pain, slowly. The Major knew he would miss him when he was gone. 

He would have liked to end the pain for the old man, but at the same time – apart from the fact that Herr Hinkel wouldn’t have allowed him to do so – he wished the old man would stay and become his healthy old self again.

Once more bewildered by something he hadn’t known he was capable of – feeling – he stepped away from the bed and looked out the window. He thought of another man he thought he had killed – not physically, but with words. He had broken something in Eroica, snuffed a flame, cut through a bond he hadn’t known existed up to the moment he severed it. – But he could not allow himself to feel – feeling for someone would lead to mistakes, and mistakes were deadly. He had tried to suppress his remorse for the last few weeks, but the hardest discipline hadn’t been able to erase the fact that he felt – 

There was a possibility, though, and not even a small one, that Eroica would recover, would not give up – and this little rebellious part in him wanted for the man to come back – which would pose an incalculable risk to future missions. And knowing what he, Klaus von dem Eberbach, was, knowing that he was not like normal people, and yet being after him – what did that say about Eroica?

He shook his head.

“It is like an abyss, am I right?” the old man said from the bed.

The Major turned, calling himself to order.

“You know me too well.”

“Getting to know you well was my heart’s wish from the first time I saw you, Master Klaus. And my duty.”

“Can you help me, then?”

Herr Hinkel breathed deeply.

“I am afraid, Master Klaus, I will not be around long enough to help you. But I think I know someone who could. This young British nobleman, Lord Gloria.”

The Major balled his fists.

“I drove him away for good! I try to forget him!”

Herr Hinkel smiled.

“Yes, you did your very best to frighten him off. However, he seems to be as headstrong and determined as you are, Master Klaus. Sure, he has to wrap his mind around what you told him. But he will not give up in the end.”

“Yes, I think so, too,” the Major reluctantly admitted. “Should I talk to him again, then?”

“Not yet, Master Klaus. I want to have a look at him first, to see if he really has what it takes. I think so, but I want to talk to him first. Alone.”

The Major knew an order when he heard one, and he bowed his head.

“Do we have the time for this?”

“It is not yet time for me to go, Master Klaus. And I think we won’t have to wait for long for him to make the first move.”

When Dorian greeted his men, he was friendly and non-committing. If asked directly, he planned to answer evasively; play the Major’s invitation down, as if nothing special had happened. Yes, he would say that the meeting had meant business, and that the Major had given him details about a new mission. This would be unusual, but plausible. 

However, as if in silent agreement, none of his men asked him about his evening with the Major, not even James. So he didn’t have to give a pre-fabricated explanation. 

His men noted, though, that their boss was unusually thoughtful and quiet; from time to time making phone calls in German. They suspected that he was holding something back, but nobody wanted to ask. As in every community when the members feel they don’t get important information, though, Dorian’s crew had their own theories and ideas about his silence regarding the evening with the Major – and about who might know more than the others.

“Something unusual must’ve happened,” tall, thin Jones said when they sat in the kitchen together in the evening, one week after their employer had come back from his mysterious visit to Schloss Eberbach, about which he kept so unnervingly silent.

Jones took three of the scones Bonham had made and spread them with butter, clotted cream and raspberry jam.

“Something unusual – the Major has yielded finally,” Beck stated. Normally, he would have teased Jones about one day no longer fitting through cellar or attic windows, if he kept eating so much, but not this time. “Or the Major finally told Milord something that put an end to all these shenanigans for good, and we now can concentrate fully on planning great heists again.”

“Amen,” said James. “If he’d finally steal these expressionists from that count in Kiel and gave them back in exchange for seven million Deutschmarks as planned, this would provide for the new roof at Castle Gloria. It’s leaking through in several places, so we had to put half of the furniture into storage with this cutthroat –“

He was interrupted by several moans. 

“What else is new?” John-Paul cut him short. 

“- and besides – we wouldn’t have to deal with the Terrible Major any more!” James was not the man to be cut short. He crossed his arms and threw his head up.

John-Paul turned his back to James.

“Maybe Milord has learned something terrible! Maybe the Major is terminally ill!”

“Nonsense!” Beck said gruffly.

“He certainly didn’t look ill when we saw him last,” blond Tony said, thoughtfully sipping his tea. “And nobody knows anything? Bonham, you saw him first when he came back. Didn’t he tell you anything?”

Bonham shook his head. 

“’E asked me to tell Bethany to saddle Stardust for ‘im. No’ a word about the trip.”

“James, come on!” Tony didn’t give up that easily.

James’s one visible eye gleamed.

“You might have observed that I, responsible for this household’s finances, usually will be informed about important decisions when everything is said and done,” he pointedly remarked.

“Yeah, ‘cause M’lord and we all are tired of your temper tantrums about every single penny!” Jones retorted.

“Some people should live in the stables, because they eat like horses,” James answered snidely.

Jones took another scone.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Tony knocked on the table. “Bethany?”

“That an interrogation? I’ve seen nothing, heard nothing, done nothing, Chief Constable.” Bethany put Samantha, her two-year-old daughter, into Bonham’s lap and went over to the oven.

“Better make another round of scones. – Why would a gay guy like Milord confide in me in matters of the heart?”

“Perhaps because you’re a woman?” Tony insisted. “Or you, George? Did he tell you something?”

George, Bethany’s husband, father of Samantha and Head Gardener at Gloria Estate, who had been lost in his own thoughts, flinched, took a sip of his tea and burned his lips.

“Me? – Naah – “ He blushed a little, never feeling completely at ease in the company of so many gay men.

“’Me? – Naah’ as in ’I know something’ or ‘Me? – Naah’ as in ‘I don’t know anything’?” Tony insisted.

Bethany came back to the table, holding the dough-dripping wooden spoon like a weapon.

“Get off his back! What part of ‘Me? – Naah’ isn’t clear to you, Tony Cummings?!” Her stance made it clear who wore the trousers in her marriage.

Before the situation could become uncomfortable, the door opened, and in sailed the subject of their conjectures, radiant as usual. Samantha giggled and put her little arms out to him. Dorian took her from Bonham.

“There’s my little princess!” He tickled her cheek. “Bad Uncle Dorian hasn’t brought you anything today. But soon Uncle Dorian will buy you the cutest princess dress, if your Momma and Daddy say that’s okay, of course. Uncle Dorian, Uncle Beck, Uncle John-Paul, Uncle Jones, and Uncle Tony will go to Germany to get some paintings, you know. And then we’ll get money from an uncle in Kiel, and he’ll get his paintings back, and Uncle Dorian will buy you a lovely dress, and Uncle James won’t have any say in this, so there!”

Several people sitting around the table gave a silent sigh of relief. 

//So that’s why I overheard him speaking German on the phone,// Bonham thought, not knowing that he was mistaken.

Dorian knew his men well enough. He had to keep them occupied, had to give them something to do. His plan to approach the Major’s father was at an early stage, however, and his closest gang members were experienced thieves, not spies. Besides, except John-Paul, who held a degree in German Literature, and Beck, a native speaker, none of them spoke German. He needed people who spoke German, though, to observe Old Man Eberbach. If he was to get hold of the Major’s father, he had to know the man’s habits and interests. Besides, with Germans of this age, it would never harm to look a little into their past.

So he had contacted Otto Buesam again. Herr Buesam wasn’t just a dealer in hunting and arms equipment; he also had a widely known influence in the world of smugglers, forgers and shady art dealers. He also knew people who would be able to observe a person and get the information required.

 

“A man?!” The distinguished, slender gentleman looked at his friend in the hospital bed. “Out of the question!”

“A young British nobleman, Heinz. Quite wild and unruly, I take it, but somehow – he seems to have struck a chord with Master Klaus.”

“This – he – I don’t know what to think,” the man called Heinz said. “Klaus feels something – for a man?”

“So it seems, and you better get used to this. - What I ask of you is – find out more about the young man, talk to him. And then bring him here. I want to see him and talk to him. He’s the one who has been following Master Klaus around the globe for years.”

“That one?! Interfering with his missions!”

“Heinz – I don’t have much longer.” The man in the bed breathed deeply. “Have you ever regretted an advice I gave you concerning your son? Face it; even you and the Sister won’t be around forever. Master Klaus needs someone to trust, someone who understands and accepts how he is – man or woman – what does it matter?” 

The Major’s father closed his fingers about the bars at the foot-end of the hospital bed and ground his teeth. 

“It was hard enough to realize what he is, Max. And to top everything off, you tell me he is sexually interested in another man!”

“Sexually or otherwise interested, it doesn’t matter! Contact the Sister, ask her. She will tell you the same as I do. Then look for the young man. Please, Heinz.”

A deep breath. 

“Very well.”

“Thank you.”

It couldn’t be excluded that the ever-paranoid Major would have Dorian observed in turn, so it would be better for him and his closest gang members to stay in the background. Maybe even Graf Eberbach had learned about him meanwhile, and Dorian didn’t think it beneath the father of a master spy to start investigations of his own. In any case, he gave Herr Buesam descriptions of the Alphabets with a general warning to pass on to whoever would do the observing.

Herr Buesam had promised to approach only the best men he knew, but they wouldn’t work for a song. So it would be necessary to pull off a few heists – the one in Kiel, another one in Monaco, then back to London – he would keep his men occupied and thus content. Let them think he’d given up on the Major, for whatever reason.

Dorian even thought about a few one-night-stands as the perfect camouflage – no questions asked, no questions answered, thank you for the great night, ta-da. However, even being with another man for one night was difficult when you had the tall, muscular shape, strong, regular features, and piercing green eyes of the one man you loved in your mind. And be it that you would never get him into bed – yes, even then…

Meanwhile, information trickled in sparsely:   
• Clemens Heinrich von dem Eberbach, born in Heidelberg 22nd December 1922;   
• son of Otto Friedrich von dem Eberbach (this must have been the brother of Friederike Wilhelmine, Klaus’s Aunt Frieda, who went for men’s’ eyes) and Juliane Emilie, neé von Scharffenstein;   
• studied History, Military Science and Mathematics in Heidelberg, Bonn, and Munich;   
• foreseen for a career in Diplomatic Services;   
• rumoured to have belonged to the circle around Graf von Stauffenberg who made the unsuccessful attempt at Hitler’s life in 1944 (in the aftermath of the attempt, many noblemen, high-ranking military men and diplomats had been executed, as far as Dorian knew. Klaus’s father must have been lucky – either a very cold bastard, sending others to the gallows – or a frightened young man who didn’t know anything much?);   
• fully rehabilitated after WWII (so many stout Nazis were, weren’t they?);   
• worked in Diplomatic Services from 1950;   
• married Henriette Elisabeth von Hilchenbach (1928 – 1955) in 1953;   
• one son, Nicolaus Heinrich von dem Eberbach, born 1955 (oh, I know that already, don’t I?);  
• retired from Diplomatic Services in 1977;   
• member of the German Rotary Club since 1951;  
• Chairman of the Club of Albatross;   
• hobbies: sailing, flying, collecting expressionist art;  
• Son in NATO Secret Service since 1973, now in the rank of a Major (someone had done his homework, definitely).

Well, Old Man Eberbach’s hobbies were something to go by, Dorian thought, especially collecting expressionist art. This kind of art wasn’t his own special cup of tea, but he knew enough about the subject to pass as a fellow enthusiast. Eberbach Senior didn’t know him in person, so, in disguise, it would be possible to approach him and hopefully get a word in private. 

Dorian’s plans had evolved this far, when things exploded around him at two ends.

On a lovely summer morning, back in Gloria Estate, there was a sudden commotion in the hall, interrupting Dorian’s breakfast. He threw his napkin on the table and got up. Before he could get to the door, it was thrown open without a knock, and Jones and Beck brought in a man with a camera dangling round his neck, who tried to free himself from their grip.

“Found this guy at the fence, trying to get in!” Beck reported.

“That’s not true! I was merely trying to get pictures of the house!” the man protested.

“You were trespassing! We should call the police!”

Dorian felt he should intervene before Jones overdid things. He looked at Beck.

“He’s clean,” Beck confirmed. Dorian nodded.

“I’m sure we can settle this matter in a civilized way. Thank you, guys, I think you can release the man now.”

Jones and Beck did so, albeit reluctantly.

“There’s no reason to treat me like a common thief! I work with ‘Party’, a newly established London magazine!” The man was still upset.

“You will surely have a document, then, to prove your statement.” Dorian remained calm, although his mind was racing. He had not been mistaken about his feeling of being watched since his return to England from their latest heist; he was sure of this now. 

He extended his hand, and the man took a document from his breast pocket.

“That’s forged. Badly forged at that – Mr O’Leary,” Dorian said after a look.

He nodded at Beck, who took the man’s camera, opened it, and tore out the film.

“Hey!” the alleged Mr O’Leary protested, “That was unnecessary! I swear –“

“What is it you really want, Mr O’Leary? Who sent you to spy on me?”

The phone rang in the hall, and Dorian heard Bonham take the call. A moment later, he came in.

“Phone call for you, M’lord.”

“Not now!” Dorian snapped, unnerved for a moment. Then he caught himself, turned and smiled. “It’s a bit inconvenient at the moment, you see. We have an unexpected visitor.”

Bonham looked at the stranger, then at Beck and Jones who flanked him, watching his every movement with sharp eyes. He nodded, but insisted.

“It’s really urgent, M’lord. You should take this call by any means.”

Dorian sighed. Bonham wouldn’t insist, if the call wasn’t really important.

“Very well then.” He turned to the stranger, Beck and Jones. “Will you excuse me for a moment, please?”

“What the hell -?” the alleged journalist flew up, but Beck’s firm grip forced him back down immediately.

“Ganz ruhig, mein Freund.” (“Keep calm, my friend.”)

The man flinched and turned around.

“Was -?”

“Ich wusste es.” (“I knew it.”) Beck stated calmly.

//I thought the man didn’t have an Irish accent, as his name suggested – come to think of it, yes, his accent sounded German. What is going on here?// Dorian thought. //Oh well. First things first.//

He followed Bonham down the hall. 

“It’s ‘err Buesam, M’lord,” Bonham whispered. “And ‘e sounded ‘like I’ve never ‘eard ‘im before – and very urgent indeed.”

Dorian took a deep breath, relieved that Bonham didn’t ask any questions about the apprehended stranger and seemed to take the situation for granted.

“Very well. Put Herr Buesam through to my suite.”

He flew up the stairs and took the receiver.

“Yes,” he said, forgetting his manners for a moment, not giving his name.

“We might have a little bit of a problem,” Herr Buesam said in a faint voice, immediately coming to the point as well.

“Is that so?”

Dorian heard Herr Buesam swallow.

“Or maybe not,” he continued ominously. “Wait. I’ll hand over the phone.”

Dorian heard how the receiver was passed over to another person. Then an unknown voice.

“Lord Gloria, I presume?”

The voice was a baritone, the tone sharp, the German accent hardly distinguishable. The speaker’s voice sounded very much like the Major’s, just a little deeper, as if the person was older. Dorian took a guess.

“Graf Eberbach?” 

“That’s right.”

Dorian wasn’t that surprised that he had taken a correct guess. This was the Major’s father after all, even if he didn’t know why Graf Eberbach would approach him. Anyway, it seemed that he had achieved his goal to speak to Old Man Eberbach. Only had the man beaten him to setting the conditions for the talk.

What would come now?

“You spied on me, young man.” Clemens Heinrich von dem Eberbach didn’t sound angry, rather amused, but the danger in his voice wasn’t far away.

//So much like Klaus …//

Dorian rallied. His attachment to the Major must not give the old man an opportunity to play with him.

“My men caught a stranger trespassing on my premises half an hour ago. One of your men, I believe?”

A slight pause at the other end. Only a second.

“Check,” Graf Eberbach admitted. “Let him go, and I will not inform the police about illegal arms dealings in a certain shop for hunting equipment.”

//Straight to the point …//

A slight pause at Dorian’s end. Only a second.

“Very well,” Dorian then said. He knew for sure that not only Herr Buesam’s business was at stake. It wasn’t clear how much Eberbach Senior knew about him, and how far the old man’s influence and connections extended – maybe even to NATO and Interpol. Herr Buesam’s spies, in turn, hadn’t found out anything shady about Graf Eberbach’s past, so he had nothing to counter should things go down the drain. – His instincts however, told him he could trust the Graf to keep his word.

“So now this is settled, we can turn to the heart of the matter, Lord Gloria. What is it you want of me?” He stressed the “me”.

//He has no doubt whatsoever about me accepting his terms …//

Dorian took a deep breath. 

“Well – I could ask you the same, Graf Eberbach, and I think we are acting on behalf of the same person. I want to talk to you about an important – subject, Graf Eberbach. In private. – And I assume – we have the same – subject for our conversation in mind?”

A moment of silence. Again.

“Yes, this may be case. - Very well, then. Three ‘o clock tomorrow at Schloss Eberbach. Good bye.” No question whether this time and place were convenient. Just a click, and Dorian was listening to the sound of an occupied line. It was “handle the matter on my conditions or leave it”. 

He shook his head. Had this conversation actually taken place? 

Oh well, there were matters to attend to in his house.

When Dorian returned to the Morning Room, James, Tony, John-Paul, and Bonham had joined Beck and Jones who were still guarding the alleged journalist.

“Would you kindly lead this gentleman from the premises?” he said to Beck.

“Los, du Sack, schwing die Hufe!” („Get going, man!“) Beck barked at the surprised man. If he was astonished himself, he didn’t let on. And, thankfully, he, too, didn’t ask any questions, at least for the moment. 

When Beck and the stranger had left the room, Dorian was faced by all members of his gang, plus Bethany, her husband, and Samantha who had joined the group. They had all heard about the stranger and the important phone call and now looked at him expectantly, waiting for an explanation. 

Beck returned, joining the silent group.

The silence was becoming uncomfortable.

//Confession time,// Dorian thought. //Alright then. I cannot keep them in the dark any longer. But how much do I tell them?//

“I guess I owe you all some explanations,” he began.

“Yes, M’lord, you could say so,” Bonham looked unusually grim, leaning at the breakfast table, his arms crossed.

“What the fuck’s going on here?” Beck spoke for everybody in the room. Bethany, who normally would fly in anyone’s face who dared to curse in the presence of her little daughter, let it go this time.

And Dorian began.

“Well – when the Major asked me to come to Schloss Eberbach two months ago, he told me he never wanted to see me again.”

“Oh, what else is new?”

A look from Beck silenced John-Paul.

“This time, it was for good.” Dorian paused, not for effect, but thinking about whether he should tell more. He decided against it.

“That’s it?” Jones spoke for them all.

“Well, he told me to stay away from him,” Dorian continued, “but you should have seen his eyes when he said this!” Dorian’s voice shook even now, as he relived the fatal evening again; and the assembled members of his household, his friends, his chosen family, looked quietly at each other, subdued.

“’E warned you off for good,” Bonham finally said.

“Yes, he told me to leave. For good.” Dorian sighed.

James knew his employer, benefactor and former lover well enough to read in his face that the bad news were yet to come.

“But of course you didn’t leave him alone! The Major became more angry than usual even! And now he’s on his way! He will kill us all!”

“Oh, for God’s sake, will someone shut him up already?” Tony asked. 

James glared at him, but was silent. 

“Jamesie is right,” Dorian said. “At least in the part that I won’t give up on the Major. Call me a fool, but I will not give up.”

“And why do I suspect that the guy Jones ‘n I caught spying this morning somehow fits into the whole mess?” Beck asked. “He was German! Is the Major spying on us now?”

“The guy was a killer sent by the Major!” James.

“Nonsense!” Jones. “The Major’s not the man to send a killer! He’d do it himself!”

“That’s what I was just saying!” James retorted. 

“No, you said, the Major would send a killer!” Tony barged in.

Bethany rolled her eyes.

A sharp whistle from Bonham silenced the arguing parties.

“Thank you, Bonham,” Dorian said. “To answer your question, Beck. It was not the Major who spied on us.”

“Alright – who else?”

“Old Man Eberbach.”

“But why him?” Bonham asked.

“Well - my plan is to convince the Major of my serious intentions. That he is not just a conquest to me, “Dorian explained. “So I thought about contacting someone close to him to whom he maybe listens and who would be able to convince him to talk to me again. And who would be close to the Major? Closest, in fact? Who would know the most about him?”

“Wouldn’t that be the old butler?” John-Paul asked, but Bonham shook his head.

“’Is father, actually.”

“Exactly.”

“So you put Herr Buesam on Old Man Eberbach’s trail?” Jones asked.

“Exactly.”

“And why?”

“To find out how I might best get in contact with him. To find out in what circles he moves, where his interests lie, all these things.”

“And the guy from this morning was sent by Old Eberbach in turn,” Beck concluded. “But how -?”

“He found out. He must have apprehended one of Buesam’s men, just as we caught one of his spies. It was him on the phone just now.”

Dorian couldn’t help smiling slightly. He had achieved what he wanted after all – to contact Old Man Eberbach.

“And what did he say?” Bethany asked.

“He wants to meet me. So I will fly over to Germany tomorrow again, and have a talk with Eberbach Senior.”

“Oh no!” James wailed.

Bonham lifted his hands in a resigning gesture and let them drop again.

John-Paul was miffed.

“You could have told us all this a little earlier! Why all this secrecy, M’lord?’”

His question found noisy agreement among the others. 

“Yes, I want to know this, too!” – “Don’t you trust your own men anymore, or why did you keep silent?” – “That wasn’t nice!” – “Or is there something else you haven’t told us?” 

Dorian lifted his hands for silence.

“I think I owe you an apology. But when I returned from my conversation with the Major, I was so confused that I had to think things through first. Alone. And then I planned to contact the Major’s father. Since I didn’t know much about him, I had him watched by men in Germany. Native speakers. Herr Buesam’s men.”

“And why did he spy on us, if he’s not planning to kill us all?” James wanted to know.

“The Major himself or Herr Hinkel, the butler, must have informed Eberbach Senior about me and the ban on me,” Dorian answered. “Probably Klaus’s father thought it better to have an eye on me, to see if I did his son’s bidding.”

“Sounds plausible,” Beck, the ever-logical, nodded. “What gives me a headache, though, is that we pulled off three heists during the time his men spied on us.”

“If ‘e knows about these ‘eists now, that’s not good for us,” Bonham agreed. “And what do we – you – know about ‘im in turn?”

“Well – not so much,” Dorian had to admit. “He was in diplomatic services and is retired now.”

“Not anything shady during the Nazi era?” Beck asked. “That would give us leverage, perhaps.”

“He likely was a member of the resistance group around Graf Stauffenberg. But this is not verified. He must have instilled a hatred of Nazis in his son, though. Which nobody glorifying that era would do.”

“But if things become pear-shaped,” Beck went on sharply, “he knows more about us than we know about him. A fine mess!”

“And what about ‘Err Buesam?” Bonham asked.

“Well, Graf Eberbach promised me not to set the police on him, if I in turn would release his man unharmed, which we did.”

“Can he be trusted? He might put Interpol on our trail anyway!” James said.

“The Major or somebody else at NATO Secret Service could ‘ave done this long ago, if they wanted,” Bonham objected.

“But Old Man Eberbach might do it now!” James argued.

“He is a nobleman,” Dorian said. “He values his honour as a member of nobility. So he will stand by his word.”

“Fine,” Beck grumbled, not really convinced.

“Listen,” Dorian continued, “I will go to Germany tomorrow and hear what the Old Man has to say. Then we will know more.”

“I hope you will tell us this time.” James pouted.

“I will. Will you book a return flight for me, then, Jamesie? – And you all –“, he sighed, it was difficult for him to say this. “I apologise for acting on my own, for not telling you about my plans, and for exposing you.” After a short pause he added: “Whoever doesn’t feel safe to trust me any longer – he – or she – is free to leave, anytime.”

Silence. No one present moved so much as a muscle. Dorian waited. Finally he nodded.

“That’s that, then. I thank you.”

He was relieved, but nevertheless, he felt uneasy. If they knew the whole truth, would   
they have reacted the same way?

Early next morning, his men watched him leave for the airport with mixed feelings.

“Those were good times when he was just obsessed with paintings or statues,” Jones remarked.

“Much easier to handle,” Beck agreed.

“Less expensive,” James added. 

“The Old Man worries me,” John-Paul murmured.

“But maybe ‘e’ll make M’lord see some sense.” Bonham tried to be optimistic, but he wouldn’t have betted on his own statement.

Things had become much too serious for bets, anyway, lately.

This time, Dorian would play a risky game. He would walk unarmed into the lion’s den. His instincts told him this would be the right thing to do. He had closed his ears to James’s horror stories – Lord Gloria, incarcerated forever in a secret torture camp somewhere on the Continent, led by Neo-Nazis – if James would ever think about another career, he had the imagination and the talent to be come a successful writer of pulp magazines. Oh well –

After an uneventful flight and an equally uneventful drive – his rental car again a Mercedes, he arrived at the small town of Eberbach again after several weks. At a public parking, he found a space and parked the car, took a deep breath.

It had been spring when he had last been here, now it was summer. A wonderful day, warm, but not stiflingly hot; the small town bristling with tourists, coming over from Heidelberg.

Dorian collected his thoughts. His appearance was calculated, of course. Again, he had gone for a conservative three-pieced-suit in a light grey. The ensemble was rounded off by matching shoes of soft leather and a shirt in a light lilac tone with a matching tie – not too flamboyant, but no grey mouse either. His hair was held back from his face and bound together at the back of his neck. Dorian was content. It was an attire which always went well with elderly ladies – even if Graf Eberbach was no elderly lady. The attire was conservative, but not boring. It would have to do.

//Anyway, it will be much more important what I’ll say to him. But frankly, I don’t have any idea what I’ll say to him. It all depends on what he’ll have to say to me -//

Dorian took another deep breath and started the car again. He consulted his watch when he reached the entrance gate to the park around the Schloss. Three o’clock sharp. He pressed the button next to the gate. This time, a voice he did not recognize came from the small grille over the button. He gave his name and stated his business.

“Graf Eberbach is expecting you, Lord Gloria,” he was informed over the intercom, and the gate opened. Dorian drove into the park. 

When he had been here last, the spring flowers had been out, the green of the trees, the bushes and lawns still light. Now the green had taken on a darker tone, and Dorian saw fields of red, pink, and yellow roses in full bloom.

He drove up to the entrance, and the door opened at the exact second he stepped from the car. A butler bowed and welcomed him to Schloss Eberbach in fluent English. He was young, short, blond, and a bit plump, with a friendly round face. All in all, he looked a little like Agent B from the Alphabet team. Dorian silently wondered where Herr Hinkel was. On earlier visits, official or unofficial, he had never seen any other servant than the old butler.

The young butler led him up a flight of marble stairs, to a part of the Schloss where he hadn’t been in the flesh before. From the ground plans in his possession, he of course knew that these were the premises of the Lord of the Manor – the Major’s private rooms lay in the opposite wing of the building.

He was led into a sparsely furnished room. A huge desk, a bookcase, a small table at the window with two chairs. From the window one had a wonderful view on a part of the park and the fields of roses. 

Dorian noted the papers and files on the desk, neatly stashed, the flat marble bowl holding pens and pencils, - no paintings on the walls, but photographs – he noted one of two young men standing in front of an official-looking building, the photograph of a beautiful young woman – her features were somehow familiar. A photograph looking older than the others: a couple, sitting on a sofa, a young boy between them, somewhat stiffly. Two portraits, showing the man and the woman in the last photograph in close-up, but older. All in all, this was no room for show, to impress visitors; this was Graf Eberbach’s private office. When he was at the Schloss, he obviously dealt with his business and his private correspondence here in this room, and sometimes he might receive guests here, but not often.

What did this mean? Why had Graf Eberbach chosen this informal, almost intimate setting for their meeting?

Dorian had no further time to ponder this question. A small door to his right opened, and a tall, slender man entered.

Graf Eberbach looked younger than he was. The similarity in posture and features to the Major was striking. Only the eyes that mustered Dorian sharply were grey.

“Good afternoon, Lord Gloria.” He extended a hand.

“Good afternoon, Graf Eberbach.” The older man’s grip was strong and firm.

“Have a seat. Tea, coffee, mineral water?”

Dorian asked for mineral water.

Graf Eberbach pressed a button at the desk, and the young butler appeared.

“Mineral water and two glasses, please.”

“Very well, sir.”

The man left the room.

Graf Eberbach scrutinized Dorian, who did his best to remain calm. He had known this wouldn’t be an afternoon spent in light conversation when he had agreed to meet the Graf at the Schloss.

The butler came back carrying a silver tablet with a decanter and two glasses. He poured a glass each for both men and left again.

Graf Eberbach seemed to have ended his sharp scrutiny. He smiled slightly. Dorian knew this half-smile well.

“So, finally I meet this persistent young man following my son around the globe, interfering with his missions,” Graf Eberbach said.

Dorian put both feet firmly on the ground.

“True, Graf Eberbach.”

The Graf paused for a moment, as if to ponder one last time whether he should say what he intended to say, then he went ahead.

“Two issues have come up during the last three months which make it necessary we talk, Lord Gloria.”

“Well, Herr Graf, this is why I am here,” Dorian confirmed.

There was another pause.

“My son has told you about the – aberration in our family,” Graf Eberbach finally began. “When he told me, he also suspected that, knowing your persistence, you would not give up following him around.” There was steel in the cold, grey gaze.

“For a while, I was not sure. But then – yes, I decided not to give up,” Dorian admitted.

“Then I found out you had set your spies on me. Why is that? What do you want of me, Lord Gloria?” There also was steel in the man’s voice.

“I wanted to speak to the man who knows – Major von dem Eberbach best. I know I cannot let him go – my intentions are serious.” Dorian held the Graf’s gaze, until Eberbach Senior stood abruptly and went to the window, looked out, his hands folded behind his back. Obviously, he was coming to a difficult decision.

Dorian waited. He knew, what he asked from the Major’s father was unthinkable: To give his blessings to a homosexual man – a pervert in his eyes – to negotiate the terms on which to approach his son.

As abruptly as he had left the table for the window, Graf Eberbach turned back to his guest.

“You are wrong, Lord Gloria. I am not the man who knows my son best. This is Herr Hinkel, whom you may know as the Head Butler of my household. But he is more, much more … He has been a close friend of mine for a long time. – It was he who advised me to find out what kind of person you are. – Unfortunately, he is terminally ill.”

“I am sorry to hear this.” Dorian didn’t just utter a phrase. The Major himself had hinted at the central role the old butler had played in his life. It must have been a shock for him – if he could be shocked by anything at all –

“This is one issue,” Graf Eberbach continued. “The second and even more serious is – a change in my son. It was Herr Hinkel again who alerted me to the change.”

//A change?// Dorian thought. Aloud he asked: “What kind of a change?”

Again, Graf Eberbach hesitated, trying to put into words the circumstances which so obviously worried him.

“My son has told you what his actual nature is – a person with an urge to kill, incapable of any emotion. – And yet – after talking to you – he admitted to – a kind of regret. – Something he never did before.”

Dorian felt a wave of happiness raise in his heart.

//He feels at least – something for me!//

“Herr Hinkel told me these things only when I had to take him to the hospital, after he got his results. And he told me more: My son was worried that these – feelings might interfere with his work, so a few days ago, he spoke with Herr Hinkel again, who advised him to accept his feelings, to make them part of himself. Somehow he has gotten the idea into his head that a contact to you might be beneficial for my son. – So he advised Klaus to contact you.– Before he would do so, however, Herr Hinkel insisted to have a talk with you, if I in turn would meet you before and find you – suitable.”

“Suitable?” Dorian asked. What were these two old men planning? – But the Major – the Major wanted to talk to him again?

Instead of answering, Graf Eberbach buzzed for the butler.

“The car, Fritz. Lord Gloria and I will drive to the clinic.”

Still mystified, Dorian followed Graf Eberbach to the car, a Mercedes Coupé, sank into the upholstered leather seat and was thrown back when Graf Eberbach accelerated the car, gravel spraying, heading for the park entrance.

He had had no idea what would await him on his visit to Eberbach Senior. You never knew with an Eberbach, but the chances of being thrown bodily from the premises were never far away. Not this time, though. Instead, it seemed as if Old Man Eberbach had found him “suitable”. Though his final test would lie in the hands of the old, terminally ill friend of the family … And the Major wanted to see him again – talk to him again? He felt another wave of joy.

Being fond of fast cars himself, he began to enjoy the drive which, according to the road signs, led them back towards Heidelberg. Graf Eberbach had a fast, almost ruthless driving style, much like his son.

“Suitable,” Graf Eberbach said when the small town of Eberbach lay behind them and they had reached the main road. “Suitable for whatever – contact my son will wish to establish to you.”

Here was another confirmation. The Major wanted to contact him again – this was all that counted. Did it matter at all then, whether the two old men gave their blessings? Well, at least Herr Hinkel’s advice would matter a lot to the Major – 

He became aware that Graf Eberbach was looking sharply at him again.

“You have considered the difficulties arising from closer contact to my son?” the Graf asked. “This will not be a bed of roses.”

“Roses tend to have thorns, I know, Herr Graf.” Dorian calmly replied. 

“First, there is the everyday life of an agent, which already puts heavy demands on any – relationship,” Graf Eberbach continued. “Secrets, long periods of absence, probably without any contact. – A – partner will often feel alone. – This is something you should consider.”

//Well expressed,// Dorian thought. What the Graf meant, of course, was: Would he be loyal and faithful to his son – as a friend or even – as a partner? He registered well the short pauses before some words, which seemed difficult for the Graf to think and to speak, which embittered him. He thought it best, though, to be silent and let the man carry on. So he nodded, as a sign that he understood.

“Second, for an agent, his duty to his mission and his country comes always first. This may entail that you, as a person close to him, might be endangered as well –“

Graf Eberbach overtook a slow car and swerved back to the right-hand lane – a very short distance away from an oncoming truck whose driver angrily leaned on the horn.

“- from agents of enemy countries who want to get to him through you. This is another point you should consider well, Lord Gloria.”

Dorian was on the verge of retorting that he wasn’t completely unfamiliar with the life of an agent through his encounters with the Major and his own contract work for NATO, which surely was no secret to the Graf, but he bit back his words and merely nodded again. It would not do to antagonize the man. Too much was at stake.

“Third: The special – condition – of my son. You should be prepared for the fact that you permanently may have to give more than you receive – emotionally. – Do you have this in you, Lord Gloria? – And – another important factor: From what I found out about you, you do not strike me as a violent man. Consider what it might do to you to be in – close contact to a man whose job it is to inflict violence and death upon others, and who does so regularly. Will you be able to withstand this kind of pressure?”

Dorian felt it was time to speak now.

“Thank you for pointing out all these important issues to me, Herr Graf. I have considered them all, before it became clear to me that I cannot give up on your son. I repeat: My intentions are serious. Nobody knows what the future will bring, but I assure you that I will do my very best.”

They had reached the outskirts of Heidelberg and had to stop at a red light.

The two men in the car looked at each other. Graf Eberbach saw the love and determination in the young man’s eyes. And Dorian saw the mask of the distanced, cold, superficially friendly but faintly threatening former ambassador finally slip. Suddenly, there was just a man, deeply worried about the future of his son. And it seemed as if he, Dorian, had struck a chord with the stern, forbearing man.

The traffic light switched to green, and Graf Eberbach drove on. Soon, they turned into the driveway to a spacious, modern hospital building.

“Hippokrates-Klinik” said a road sign to the left, another one “Parkplätze” (parking lot) to the right.

When he had turned into a space in the parking lot and had stalled the car, Graf Eberbach suddenly grabbed Dorian’s arm.

“There is one other thing, Lord Gloria. – The men responsible at NATO Secret Service know my son as a precise, ruthless and remorseless, yet absolutely loyal problem-solver. To them, he is not more than a well-maintained machine. If a machine has a malfunction and cannot be repaired, however, it will be taken away and scrapped. – What I want to say is – “ his grip on Dorian’s arm became painfully tight – “should Klaus make mistakes, fail in his line of duty because he develops feelings, they will not retire him. He knows too much. – And this, Lord Gloria, is what I will not suffer – after all these years of –“ 

He broke off and released Dorian’s arm.

“I apologize, Lord Gloria,” he said stiffly.

“I know what you mean,” Dorian assured him. “I will not suffer this either. – One more question, though – how much does the Alphabet Team know?”

“Nothing about my son’s – special condition and lone missions. – You, too, have men working for you, Lord Gloria. How much do they know?”

“I did not tell anyone of them what the Major told me.”

Again, Graf Eberbach looked at him sharply. Dorian met his eyes.

“Good. The less they know, the better for them,” the Graf finally said. “I trust you, Lord Gloria.”

Dorian nodded.

For a moment, both men then sat in the car, staring ahead through the windshield at the trimmed bushes surrounding the parking lot. Dorian would have liked to rub his arm, but he wasn’t sure whether the man next to him would see this as a sign of weakness, so he did not move. 

Finally, Graf Eberbach spoke again.

“You see, my son and I have never been very close, what with my line of duty – and my mixed feelings towards him. – First the job, when my wife was expecting, then the difficult pregnancy – I left her alone, had to travel a lot – my work, - it was necessary – I lost her. She died, giving birth to Klaus. – My pain about losing my wife was mitigated by the pride about a strong, healthy heir – I gave him into the best hands I could imagine, but I left him alone as well – so it was not me who saw the first signs that not all was well with Klaus, although I had feared it might be the case. Yes, I was disappointed and angry that the – family condition had come out in my son, and I took it out on him – being more hard and distant than I should have been. – I do not know in how far this may have influenced his development, or whether I am just pitying myself in my remorse of not having been a better husband and father.”

Dorian was aware that the Graf had given him a rare glimpse of his true feelings for his son, and that this was a sign the man trusted him. 

Suddenly, he remembered his Uncle Ernest, whom he had liked a lot, and what he had said, when Dorian had complained about his parents: “Well-meaning parents try to do what they think is the best for their children. But they are people, too, with their own imperfections and problems,” he murmured - and became aware that he had spoken aloud, when Graf Eberbach turned to him.

“My uncle Ernest told me this,” he added with a nervous laugh, “I think it is true.”

“A wise man, your uncle Ernest,” Graf Eberbach agreed, and for a moment, a smile lit up his face.

“What I want to say, Lord Gloria, is – the man whom Klaus trusts most, who has been his mentor and teacher from the early stages of childhood, will fairly soon no longer be with us. And Klaus still needs a person to trust. There is the Sister and there am I, but we, too, will not be around forever. – We need help. And so Herr Hinkel suggested that I contact you.”

//Of all people,// Dorian thought. //You wouldn’t have chosen me of you own free will. But maybe you are on the way to accept me a little bit more; otherwise we wouldn’t be on the way to Herr Hinkel.//

“And now we are here to see Herr Hinkel” he said aloud.

“And we should go in,” Graf Eberbach agreed.

They left the car and went up to the building. Had someone observed them, he would have seen two men who after difficult negotiations had come to a kind of agreement.

//A heavy burden …// Dorian thought, //And a great chance … Looks like I can’t have one without the other … Now for the final verdict …//

They passed the sliding doors into a spacious entrance hall. Graf Eberbach went to the reception desk. The receptionist greeted him by name. 

//He probably donates considerable sums to the clinic.//

In silence, they took the lift up to the second floor. Graf Eberbach turned left. 

The corridor they now entered through another pair of sliding doors was painted in bright and friendly colours, sunlight fell through a giant window at the end – but the smell of sickness and death, mixed with disinfectants, hung heavily in the air. Four doors on each side, and behind each door probably a terminally ill person, Dorian thought. Belying the cheerful impression, it was nevertheless obvious that this was the corridor reserved for the patients who would die soon – and part of Dorian wanted to run. He felt very out of place here, young, healthy and full of life as he was – like a provocation to the people who were perhaps preparing for death. – He rallied. 

Graf Eberbach went to the last door on the right-hand side, and just as he lifted his hand to knock, the door opened and a doctor came out. He was middle-aged, looked slim and well-trained, with quick, effective movements and an aura of authority. Probably one of the head doctors, if not the head of the clinic. He, too, greeted the Graf by name and shook hands with him. Dorian was presented as “a friend of the family”. The doctor’s handshake was firm, he radiated competence. He, too, spoke English when he noticed that Dorian was foreign.

“He is feeling well and in a good mood today, Graf Eberbach. Probably looking forward to your visit. – Please excuse me now. I have other patients to attend to. – Graf Eberbach, Lord Gloria –“ The doctor vanished into the next room, and the Graf finally knocked.

“Enter.” The voice from inside sounded weak and brittle.

Dorian remembered when he had last seen the old butler – well, it had been more than a year ago. He was shocked how old, frail and thin the sinewy man had become. The hospital bed seemed too big for him. There were no beeping apparatuses around, though, just an infusion stand.

When Herr Hinkel recognized the visitors, a smile lit up his face, which got a little more colour.

“Heinz,” he said in a stronger voice, “so you have brought the young man. – Come closer, Lord Gloria.”

Dorian obeyed and took the emaciated hand that was extended to him. Close by, the smell of illness became stronger. He saw the catheter bag hanging at the bedside, smelled the faint odour of urine.

//So that’s what the end looks like,// he thought. Would it be him in fifty or sixty years’ time, a dying man, helplessly lying in a too big hospital bed? And behind the window which was opened a crack, a beautiful park with big old trees, lying in bright sunlight, well-maintained flower-beds, lawn-sprinklers providing water for the dense, green lawn, everything in full bloom, birds singing – and the man lying next to him in his bed would soon never see all this beauty again. It felt so unjust. But maybe he would see parks which were much more beautiful …

Dorian could not help his eyes filling with tears.

“Thank you for bringing him here, Heinz,” Herr Hinkel said. He still held Dorian’s hand in his own. “Thank you. Now, will you leave us alone for a while, please?”

“Of course. I’ll be close should you need me.”

Dorian blinked back his tears. He could not help feeling slightly amused despite his sadness. Nobody else than Herr Hinkel would dare, even think about sending away Eberbach Senior like this. But probably the two men had agreed earlier that Herr Hinkel would talk to Dorian alone.

The old man finally released Dorian’s hand and groped for the remote that brought the head of his bed into a more upright position.

Dark eyes, huge in the emaciated face, still sharp and alert, mustered Dorian.

“Have a seat, Lord Gloria.”

Dorian took one of the visitor chairs standing at the window, brought it close to the bed and sat down.

“Heinz will have told you everything you should know, and he’s given you hell, I take it?”

“Well, you could say so, yes,” Dorian answered after a moment of thought. “But I think his assessment of the situation is realistic.”

Herr Hinkel smiled.

“Don’t hold it against him if he is somewhat hesitant about a relationship his son might take up with another man. Clemens Heinrich von dem Eberbach is a good sort. He may not show it too much, but he genuinely loves his son and wants the best for him.”

“Yes, I understood this much, after a while,” Dorian agreed.

“Circumstances weren’t always easy for him,” Herr Hinkel continued. “And sometimes, he doesn’t see that it is necessary to think along new paths. At first, he refused to accept the fact that I will not be here for very much longer. ‘It’s too early’, he said.” 

Herr Hinkel made a movement with his hand as if to wave off this statement.

“As if death cared for to early or too late! – Anyway – it took a great deal of persuasion on my part until he saw that a replacement for me had to be found. And when I suggested you might replace me very well – assumed you were willing to do so – he adamantly and very vocally refused.”

Dorian smiled. He knew about adamant and very vocal refuses. Apparently, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. However – replacing Klaus’s tutor?

“But I could never replace you, Herr Hinkel,” he protested.

“And yet this will be your task – provided you and Master Klaus are willing to begin a relationship,” Herr Hinkel’s voice was firm. “You would be the one then, to show him how to feel, to guide his emotions, to guard and balance him. It will be a hard task, and Graf Eberbach has his doubts. I, however, am willing to entrust you with the most precious thing in my life: Master Klaus’s welfare. Nobody can foresee what the future will bring, but I think you will be good for him.”

//What is it about this man,// Dorian thought, //a man who devoted his life to serving the Eberbach family? Did he never have a wife, a family of his own? The friendship between him and Graf Eberbach must be very close, and yet Herr Hinkel has been content with the role of the head of staff in the Eberbach household. And he thinks I   
would be best for Klaus -// He felt flattered, yes, and bewildered.

“I – I am honoured, you think so, Sir,” he finally managed.

“Yes, I do now. – “ 

There was a pause, but Herr Hinkel looked as if he had not yet said everything he wanted to say. So Dorian waited, observing the emaciated figure in the hospital bed. The ill man had closed his eyes and seemed to gather the rest of his strength. A long stretch of time passed, until Herr Hinkel opened his eyes and spoke again.

“You may have asked yourself what binds me so closely to the Eberbachs and why I became Master Klaus’s tutor.” He breathed deeply, looking out through the window into the trees.

“It’s a long story, Lord Gloria. I hope you have some time to spare?”

“As long as it takes,” Dorian said. 

“Thank you. Well – the friendship between Heinz and me dates way back – more than fifty years. It even survived the Nazi regime. – Our fathers had been friends already, fought together in WWI. My father Felix was a lawyer and handled all the legal and financial affairs of the Eberbach family. Our families also met privately, and we played together as little boys.” Herr Hinkel smiled. 

“Would you open the nightstand drawer and hand me the album in there, please?”

Dorian did as he was told and handed the thin, battered leather photo album to the butler. 

“Now things will get a little sentimental, maybe, but I hope you will indulge me, Lord Gloria.”

“Why, yes, of course.”

Herr Hinkel opened the photo album and showed Dorian the first page: Two little boys in sailor suits, obviously unhappy about having to wear their Sunday clothes and being admonished to stand still for the photographer. The photograph was taken in a park, big trees and a kind of pavilion formed the background. One of the boys had dark curls, dark eyes and a mischievous grin, the other one was dark-haired, too, pretty, with regular features, but staring grimly at the camera – probably because the photographer had told them to smile. Someone had written a caption in a fine handwriting underneath the photograph.

“Max & Heinz, 1928,” Dorian read.

“The world was still alright, then – at least for us boys,” Herr Hinkel continued, “but things would change rapidly. –“ He turned a few album pages. “Here is the last photograph showing all members of my family together.” He pushed the album over to Dorian again. 

A middle-aged couple, he in a dark suit, looking very distinguished and intelligent; she in a simple black dress, blonde and pretty; sitting next to each other in a pair of chairs, holding hands. A young man in his teens, also in a suit, hair black and curly, stood to their right; a girl in a white dress, with long blonde braids, leaned against the sitting woman. She held a bunch of field flowers in her hand. Nobody smiled in this photograph.

“Familie Hinkel, September 1940,” the caption read. The handwriting looked the same, still neat, but spikier somehow, as if the writer had been under pressure.

Dorian shuddered. Something dawned on him.

//What did he say? – “The last photograph showing all members of my family together.”//

“Are you Jewish?”

Herr Hinkel didn’t answer. He seemed far away, staring into the past. 

“Heinz took this photograph. We were still friends, amazingly. Our fathers as well. All in secret. There would have been serious consequences for the Eberbach family, had it come out they still were in friendly contact with a Jewish family. – Otto von dem Eberbach had a high military rank, and Heinz was foreseen for a military career as well. – Worlds lay between us – he wore the uniform of the Nazis and attended a military academy, after finishing High School. I had dreamt of following in my father’s footsteps and becoming a lawyer as well – but for Jews it was forbidden to attend a university. Instead I was cleaning toilets and carrying crates to the market. I had been thrown out of school, and had become employed by men who would have faced serious consequences, too, had someone informed Gestapo that they had given a job to a Jew. – Times were hard, then.” Herr Hinkel spoke without bitterness, Dorian noted, though. He merely stated facts.

“Since 1938, my father had not been allowed to practice as a lawyer any longer. My sister and I were no longer allowed to attend schools, let alone universities, but I mentioned that already. We weren’t allowed to drive cars, to use public transport. Certain public places were off limits to us, cinemas, theatres, the opera, and museums. Christians were pressured to annul relationships and marriages to Jewish partners. Many did, many fled the country with their partners as long as they still could, and some committed suicide. – It was the daily harassment that grated on your nerves.”

Dorian tried to imagine living in these times as an unwanted person in Germany. He imagined being thrown out of an art gallery, an opera house, a theatre. Sure he was gay and he showed this fact in his clothing and behaviour, and he had had his encounters with harassment, too, with people who didn’t like what he was – but this was not to compare with what Herr Hinkel described.

“Otto von dem Eberbach – Uncle Otto, as my sister and I called him – supported our family financially. We were forced to sell our valuables to survive, and he bought a lot – at a fair price. Officially, he took the paintings and works of art away from us. – After the War, Heinz insisted on giving everything back.” Herr Hinkel paused again.

//So maybe one or two of the paintings at the Schloss are actually Herr Hinkel’s?// Dorian rallied and chastised himself inwardly for thinking of paintings now. – There had been worse things than losing works of art. The Hinkels’ lives had been made unbearable, they and countless other Jewish families had been driven into despair; well-respected citizens and members of the community had become unwanted persons overnight – they must have been living in an atmosphere of ever-present fear -

“I try to imagine how to live under such circumstances – with all that harassment and pressure – so unfair and unnecessary – but I hardly can,” Dorian said.

“Nobody can, young man, who hasn’t been in this situation, I think. Nobody can, but we lived, somehow. – My sister and I were young, we managed. For our parents, it was worse.”

“But why did your family not leave?” Dorian asked. “Couldn’t Otto von dem Eberbach have arranged something?”

Her Hinkel smiled a sad smile.

“And how Uncle Otto reasoned with my father! More than once he implored him to leave the country as long as there was still time. But my father refused. – At first, we all had thought of Hitler and his followers as barbaric madmen who wouldn’t be in power for long. – Uncle Otto, though, soon saw that circumstances would become dangerous to German Jews and told my father so. My father, however, wouldn’t listen. My mother wasn’t feeling too well, a long journey with an uncertain destination would have been bad for her health – and Grete and I didn’t want to leave our parents alone –“ Again, Herr Hinkel paused, closing his eyes.

“Looking back, had we listened to Otto von dem Eberbach – events would have taken a different route. But we were German citizens – or so we thought. We loved our home country. – And no one, not even Uncle Otto, could foresee how bad things actually would become. – As of 1941, all Jews had to wear a yellow star visible on their clothing – an invitation for every ‘good citizen’ to harass, molest, and beat up people wearing the star with the inscription ‘Jude’ inside. And SA and police were the worst. – Also in 1941, they began to deport the Jews – to so-called work camps. Some of them became death camps later on.”

“Your family –“ Dorian whispered.

Herr Hinkel took a deep breath.

“Heinz – that goddamned, mad daredevil – One night – it was in October 1942 – I was on my way home from the grocery shop where I worked in the storage room – it was already dark. To get home, I had to walk right across town. It was curfew, and I had to be alert that the patrolling SA men wouldn’t catch me, when suddenly a black shadow jumped on me from a corner. I thought it was an SA-Mann, and I fought for my life, but my attacker forced me down to the ground and put his hand over my mouth. It was Heinz. ‘Don’t go home,’ he said, ‘They’ve taken your family. They’ve taken away all Jews in the area!’”

“Oh my God!”

“God wasn’t there this night,” the ill man whispered. “I struggled to get away, to run and save my family, but Heinz was stronger. ‘My father tries – you can’t go there, you can’t help them!’ he hissed, but I wouldn’t give up fighting, so he beat me senseless. – When I came to, I was in a windowless cellar room. Tante Milli – Heinz’ mother, was with me. She was crying. I asked where my family was, my father, my mother, Grete, my sister. ‘The SS took them away, Max. They took them all away – the Schneidbrenners, the Finks, the Wolfs – they came with trucks, broke in doors, threw people out of their houses and onto the trucks.’ I asked where my family was taken, but Tante Milli didn’t know. ‘Otto tries to find out what’s going on. For the moment, you will be safe here,’ was all she could tell me. I wanted to get out, to look for my family on my own, and Tante Milli implored me to stay where I was, when Uncle Otto and Heinz came in. Apparently, my father and the heads of the other families Aunt Milli had named had refused to obey the deportation order – they had received a letter saying they had to pack their things, lock up their houses and flats and had to gather at a certain place in the neighbourhood, where the deportation trucks would await them. – Father had told us nothing about such a letter! – And I suppose neither had Herr Wolf or any of the others. – What had they thought? That SS or SA soldiers would have pity on their wives, their children? – The SS made them an example what would happen to every Jew showing this kind of disobedience. The families were ejected with force, the men beaten up. They didn’t even have time to pack any of their belongings; they couldn’t even take a coat. That was what Otto told me. He sent Heinz and Aunt Milli from the room – never had I seen him this harassed and exhausted. ‘They’re already on their way to a work camp, Theresienstadt. That’s in the Protektorat Böhmen und Mähren. – I cannot help them any longer, Max, I can’t do anything.’ I broke down, began to rage, assaulted Otto, cursed him and Heinz who had saved my life that day, tried to get out, to run to the next SS Mann in the street to give myself up, to be reunited with my family. – I had a complete breakdown.” Again he paused, exhausted.

Dorian covered his face with his hands. He tried to grasp what he had just heard, and to imagine his mother, his sisters and their families forcefully ejected from their homes, locked away in a work camp, and he unable to help them – how he would feel – shattered, angry and despaired, just as Herr Hinkel must have felt. Words failed him.

“I don’t remember much of what happened next,” Herr Hinkel continued. “I must have been delirious. The Eberbachs kept me hidden at the Schloss, another friend of theirs, a doctor, looked after me. For about three weeks, I was out. – And when I came to, I didn’t know what to begin. – Again, it was Heinz, this goddamned Jack-of-all-trades, who had connections to a young man, Franz, who was a member of ‘Roter Stoßtrupp’, a communist resistance organisation. I joined them, if only hoping at first to learn something about my family, then to help others who were in a similar situation. I went into the underground.”

“Your family – “ Dorian dared to ask.

“A postcard from Theresienstadt – sent by my sister Grete to Lore Meinert, a friend from school – the Eberbachs were friends with the Meinerts as well, so I came to know about the postcard. - They had arrived at Theresienstadt safely, and they all were well – they made them write, and of course they censored what was written. That was all. – here is the postcard. Fräulein Meinert gave it to me after the war.”

An old-fashioned postcard with a smeared stamp, Z for Zensur (passed by a censor) in red; a round, girlish handwriting. As Herr Hinkel had said, Grete wrote that they had arrived safely, and that she missed her friend Lore, “and all the others”. That they all were well and would work hard, so they would be able to return one day. “All the others” – she had not dared to become more clear, so as not to endanger her brother, should he still be alive and free…

//Lord Almighty,// Dorian thought. Almost reverently, he gave back the postcard to the sick man.

“It was allowed to send packages,” Herr Hinkel continued. “The Meinerts sent a package, and I enclosed a book – ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin’ – Grete and I had read it together. – Heinz had saved it from our house. This book and the photo album. Our house had been confiscated, looted, and the new owners had thrown everything out they did not want – that was all that was left for me – a book and a photo album. – I thought the book would be a sign to my family that I was alive and well – if they would ever receive the package – I don’t know. The Meinerts never heard from them again. In 1944, my family was deported to Auschwitz, this much I learned after the war – but then – nothing. Like so many, they must have been killed there – worked to death, shot, sent into the gas – who knows?”

Herr Hinkel saw that Dorian wiped away some tears and smiled weakly.

“Don’t be sad, young man. You have a good and feeling heart. I myself have cried all the tears I had in me. My family was dead, but I was alive – and again, it was Heinz who kept me alive. He had been lucky himself, not being hanged as a conspirator when the attempt at Hitler’s life, planned by Graf Stauffenberg, failed. – After the war, Heinz and his family enabled me to finish school and to study economy. To pay off a little of my debts – I didn’t want to take too much advantage of their generosity - I worked in the Eberbach household. Uncle Otto and Aunt Milli both died in the early fifties. Heinz had gone into diplomatic services, and he asked me to work for him again – to look after the Eberbach household, because he was away so often. I agreed – not only because of the more than generous salary he paid me. – And he fell in love.” Herr Hinkel smiled again.

//He is proud,// Dorian thought. //The Eberbachs enabled him to pursue a career, and he didn’t want it for free. This is why he worked for them.//

“Jette was lovely. A gentle woman with a great inner strength. She was good for Heinz, and she would have been good for Master Klaus, if only she had lived.”

“And what about you? Have you ever been -?” The words were out before Dorian could mind his manners. At that moment, still trying to digest what he had learned about the fate of the Hinkel family, he had wanted to bring a lighter note into the conversation and dropped a brick. 

He put a hand over his mouth.

“- in love?” Herr Hinkel ended the sentence Dorian had begun.

“Forgive me, sir. That was rude of me.”

Herr Hinkel dismissed his words with a wave of his hand.

“Ah, nonsense. Of course I had my relationships, too. I was with Effi, a girl I met when I was with resistance, for a while; then with Laura, a fellow student. On and off, and I wish them well. We were young and alive, and I didn’t live like a monk. – But back to my story. – How happy Heinz and Jette were when she became pregnant! The pregnancy, however, was complicated and took a lot out of her. And then the birth – Heinz came back from a meeting in France to be at her side, but he had to leave again soon. For two days she was in labour, and the doctor wouldn’t risk a Caesarean section. It was a big operation then, even if they are quite common today. And when she finally gave birth to Master Klaus, it was too late for her. – I have never seen Heinz rage and cry so much before. He had a complete breakdown. I arranged everything for the funeral, and he went through the ceremony like a robot. During this time, I looked after the baby. I felt it was my duty to do this in person. - I was very worried, but after a week, Heinz rallied and became his old self again. It was then that he told me about the illness in the Eberbach family – something I had not known about before. I had not known Uncle Otto had a mentally ill sister, whom he hid at Schloss Eberbach for some time to save her from being euthanized and who lived at a lunatic asylum until she died in the sixties. –Heinz asked me whether I would watch over his son together with him. I agreed. It was a way to pay back a little of what he and his family had done for me and my family. - You may think he was asking too much, to sacrifice my own career, but I never saw it this way. – Heinz told me about the signs of the illness, and he asked me to look for them in his son. How much did he hope Master Klaus wouldn’t be affected! – Nicolaus Heinrich was baptized two weeks after his birth, one week after Jette’s burial. Since I could not be his godfather, he was held over the basin by Nicolaus Mönninghoff.”

Dorian frowned. He had heard that name somewhere. Suddenly he remembered.

“The Chief? – The Chief is Klaus’s godfather?!”

Herr Hinkel coughed.

“Reeks of nepotism, but isn’t. Master Klaus makes his way alone.”

“Knowing the Major, I would never assume anything else,” Dorian replied. He knew, the Major was much too proud to take advantage of connections - if they were an advantage at all.

“Nobody could know how their careers would develop, then,” Herr Hinkel agreed. “It was good Heinz had warned me about the special condition in the Eberbach family. So I was alert – Master Klaus screamed a lot as a baby. – other babies cry – he screamed! And how he screamed! He rarely laughed or smiled. As a toddler, he didn’t like to be cuddled, he always needed his distance. When he met strangers, he stared at them unsmiling, for a long time, which must have unnerved them a lot. At a very early age, he developed an interest to dissect things – unfortunately, he didn’t make a difference between inanimate objects and living creatures, and when I scolded him for tearing the wings off a butterfly, he looked at me as if he truly didn’t understand why I was upset. He was not interested in playing with other children, beat them when they came too close, or frightened them away by staring at them.”

//I can imagine,// Dorian thought. 

“His sharp mind showed early, but he hardly spoke, and when he spoke, it was like a command. And when he was denied what he wanted, he could throw terrible temper tantrums.” Herr Hinkel smiled again.

“You must have had nerves of steel,” Dorian said, smiling as well.

“Sometimes they were very thin,” Herr Hinkel admitted. “Young Master Klaus also had a strong urge to move, to run around, to climb. Like his father, he was a true daredevil – no tree was too high, no river or lake too cold or deep. He had no sense for danger. – Heinz had to realize for himself, and what he did not see, I told him: The signs of the Eberbach condition could not be ignored in Master Klaus. We discussed what to do, and very soon, Heinz brought the Sister in. She had worked for NATO Secret Service, and together we decided, Master Klaus should be trained. We worked out a code of iron rules which were to be obeyed with no exception to inscribe into him a strict sense of discipline and duty, loyalty to those who cared for him – and rather early, we opted for the same career the Sister had worked in at NATO. – It was not easy to socialize him – how to instil into a person who himself feels nothing the concept that others feel? Disobedience always had to have consequences, with no exceptions. – Well, this sounds more cruel than it actually was. We avoided punishing him bodily. We explained. And when he fell from a tree and broke his arm, he would have to wear a cast and be restricted in his actions and movements. That was that. We also made it clear we would never tolerate him killing innocent animals, let alone hurt or harm his classmates or other people. A rigid training schedule worked wonders, and he learned to fit in by playing soccer, which he liked. It all was – an experiment, but a successful one, I think.”

“An experiment? I hardly would call a human being an experiment, with all due respect, sir!” Dorian objected.

Herr Hinkel lifted a thin finger.

“Don’t forget, Master Klaus is no average human being. Heinz strictly refused to involve doctors, and this maybe was not such a bad idea. – We tried to do the best we could, but we had no experience to go by, except old family documents. Master Klaus showed you what his ancestor Konrad von dem Eberbach wrote about his son Friedhelm. As a soldier, Friedhelm appeared normal; the war satiated his urge to kill. So we trained Master Klaus to become a killer in the services of NATO, going with his inborn urge to kill. Insofar, raising him was an experiment.” He paused, exhausted.

Dorian was silent, tried to sort his thoughts and emotions.

“Do not think that I don’t love Master Klaus with all my heart,” Herr Hinkel continued after a while. “He was my reason to live, to go on, to repay the goodness of the Eberbachs, who saved my life. I told you my story so you will see that I only want the best for Master Klaus. So does Heinz and so does the Sister. Master Klaus trusts us - but we all will not be here forever. – And Master Klaus seems to have developed an interest in you, young man. And to me, you seem to be strong and persistent enough to deserve his – interest? Attraction?”

//In the end, it’s all up to Klaus …//

Dorian lifted his hands and let them fall again in a helpless gesture. 

“Well, this is something I must hear from the Major himself in the end, so I can believe it truly.”

“Heinz told you Master Klaus felt regret in trying to frighten you off by telling you what he really is. He never regretted anything before. – We talked. He seems to want you around. I advised him to talk to you again, and surely he will do so.”

“But what you mean to him, and what I – maybe – could mean to him, will be very different.” Dorian suddenly felt the full weight of responsibility on his shoulders.

Herr Hinkel shook his head.

“He doesn’t think you’d replace us, literally. Of course you are different. Simply be yourself. It has worked well for you before. The relationship you and Master Klaus will develop will be much different from the relationship he has to me. And this is good. Only promise me to do your best, young man.”

“I will do my very best,” Dorian took Herr Hinkel’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you,” Herr Hinkel said. “Now, will you call in Heinz again?”

In the corridor, Graf Eberbach was standing at the huge window, looking out into the park. 

//Sometimes it is good to know a lot,// Dorian thought. He saw Graf Eberbach with other eyes now - a man who had saved his friend’s life, who had stood by his friend in times when it was dangerous to have the “wrong” friends. He had endangered his own family in the run of events, but they had supported him. Had Otto ever reproached Heinz for endangering his parents through his recklessness?

Graf Eberbach turned. 

“Would you please go in to him, Herr Graf?”

If Eberbach Senior was curious what Herr Hinkel might have told his visitor, he didn’t let on. Maybe he knew, anyway.

“Thank you, Lord Gloria.”

Now Dorian stood at the window and looked out into the park. The sun was still strong, but the shadows had become longer. Patients and their visitors were still walking around or sitting on the benches. From the corner of his eyes, to the left, at a huge bush of yellow roses, Dorian saw a small figure in a white dress, long blonde tresses shimmering in the sunlight – unreal, somehow. She came closer, looking up at the windows, right at him for a moment; then her gaze went past him, to the window to his right, to the room in which Herr Hinkel lay. Dorian blinked. The figure of the girl was gone.

//I’m neither drunk nor stoned,// Dorian thought. //The sunlight must have played my eyes a trick.// It couldn’t be that Grete, Grete Hinkel, who had been killed in Auschwitz over forty years ago, had come to see her brother again, to take him with her to wherever the dead lived – or could it be? Dorian shuddered and shook his head. He must have seen a living girl – with similar hair and in a similar dress as Grete wore in the photograph. Dressed up for a visit to a sick relative.

The door to Herr Hinkel’s room opened.

“He wants another word with you, Lord Gloria.”

“Just one thing more,” Herr Hinkel said, when Graf Eberbach had left the room again and Dorian had stepped up to the bed.

“I want to see you at my funeral, young man. No excuses.” He blinked an eye. “Will you do this for me?” He took both of Dorian’s hands in his own and shook them.

“Of course, sir,” Dorian promised.

“Thank you,” thoughtfully, Herr Hinkel looked at the window, out into the park.

“Not much longer now – and –“ he pulled Dorian closer and whispered: “On the other side, the park is even much more beautiful. I can see Grete waving at me. She’s waiting for her brother – Now go, young man, be brave and strong and do your best.”

He released Dorian’s hands.

“Yes, sir.”

Dorian left the room in a daze. So Herr Hinkel had seen his sister, too. Herr Hinkel was dying, and dying people might have a glimpse of what lay beyond – but why had he, Dorian, seen the girl as well?

He flinched and turned, hearing the Graf’s voice in his back.

“Time to leave now, Lord Gloria.”

In silence, the two men drove back to Schloss Eberbach.

“Will you leave for England tonight, or shall I have Franz arrange for a guest room for you?” Graf Eberbach asked when he had stopped the car in front of the Schloss. It had become dark.

“Thank you, Herr Graf, all is provided for,” Dorian answered.

//I need a drink now.//

In his hotel room, he decided against a drink, though. Alcohol had never agreed with him, anyway. He needed a clear head. – Never in his 26 years had he given much thought to death and an afterlife, although he firmly believed an afterlife existed. People there probably were not much different from how they had been here, he imagined. His father, distant and occupied with himself, had left his pretty son alone often enough, so it was clear he wouldn’t care for him after he had died. But if someone cared enough for a still living relative – maybe Grete Hinkel had actually come to help her brother cross over to the other world. And he, Dorian, could see her, because she agreed and wanted to endorse her brother’s last wish. Maybe she and her parents had even observed from wherever they were, how Herr Hinkel had cared for the youngest Eberbach, had watched Master Klaus become the Major … who would know?

The future lay with him. Remained to wait for the Major to seek him out. He felt it was important the Major would take the first step. He would have to see what would happen.

The next day, Dorian awoke much more relaxed, had a good breakfast at the hotel, went back to Frankfurt and flew home.

“No need for shenanigans any more,” he said to Bonham. “I have both their blessings.”

“Whose blessings moight that be exactly, M’lord?” Bonham asked, carefully choosing his words.

“Those of Eberbach Senior and those of Herr Hinkel,” Dorian answered.

“To do what exactly?”

“To be in the Major’s life.”

“But Oi think - what does the Maijor ‘imself think about the idea?”

“According to Graf Eberbach and Herr Hinkel, he isn’t set dead against it. It seemed he changed his mind.”

“Oh.” Bonham scratched his head. “All of a sudden?”

“Apparently. - Now, before I’ll tell the boys, Bonham, will you make us a good cuppa, and I’ll tell you a little more? What I heard from the Graf and Herr Hinkel was the story of two families in a difficult time. I believe it is important to know this story to understand Herr Hinkel’s crucial role in the Eberbach household, and his influence on the Major.”

“Oi’m all ears.”

And Dorian told his second-in-command what he had learned about Graf Eberbach and Herr Hinkel. He also hinted at the Major’s condition and the changes.

“But you must promise me, Bonham, that you will keep this a secret. You must never tell the others.”

“Oi promise,” Bonham said when he had finally ended. “What a story! – And you really want to go through with this?”

“Yes, Bonham. If he contacts me, I will go through with it.”

Bonham nodded.

“Frankly, ‘t was high time you grew up, M’lord.”

 

The Major was in Bonn between missions, doing hated paperwork, when Agent A entered his office. 

“Call from Graf Eberbach, sir.”

The Major took up the receiver.

“Yes, sir?”

“The hospital just phoned me. They say he’ll pass over soon.”

“Thank you. I’m on my way.”

Five minutes later, after a few instructions to A, he was out the door. The Chief knew about the situation, no explanations needed there.

He flew to Eberbach, driving even faster than usual, pushing his Mercedes to the limit, hoping it wouldn’t be too late when he arrived. It was important to say good-bye to his mentor properly.

He reached the clinic, ran to Herr Hinkel’s room, found his father at the bedside.

“Still holding on,” Graf Eberbach said, looking at the emaciated man in the bed. Herr Hinkel’s eyes were closed, only a faint lifting and falling of the thin chest showed that he was still alive. 

“Asleep,” the Graf whispered, when Herr Hinkel opened his eyes. They had a dreamy look, as if the man had been away very far already, and it seemed to take a few seconds until he recognized the two men at his bedside.

“Master – Klaus,” he whispered. “Heinz –“

“I will leave you alone for a while,” the Graf said, reluctantly.

“We – have said our – good-byes, Heinz. Now – let me – say good-bye to – Master Klaus.”

Graf Eberbach left the room without a further word.

“You would have never – forgiven – me, Master Klaus, if – I went – without – saying good-bye – to you – properly,” the dying man said.

“Nonsense!” the Major said gruffly. “But I’m glad I made it.”

“Talk to him – Master Klaus – talk to him. Promise!”

The Major knew whom Herr Hinkel meant by “him”. He nodded.

“I will. You know I will.”

“That’s good. Because now – I must sleep a little – rest – before – they’re calling –“

The rest was an unintelligible mumble. Herr Hinkel’s eyes closed again, his chest faintly rose and fell. The Major felt an unusual need to be close to the dying man. Carefully, he took one of the thin hands into his own, and the fingers entwined with his. Herr Hinkel sighed; for a moment, his hand gripped the Major’s hand tightly, then the grip abruptly loosened. For a few moments, the Major sat and held the limp hand firmly clasped in his own. He looked at the chest, thought he saw still movement, but his eyes had deceived him. He felt the jugular vein, nothing. Gently, the Major stroked the stubbly cheek. He knew about death. Here, death had come as a friend. For Herr Hinkel, all pain and trouble were over. Suddenly, he felt as if someone had stabbed him in the chest – searing pain. It hit him with full force – never would he hear the gentle, firm voice again, guiding, admonishing, explaining – it hurt. Terribly.

The Major screamed. It was a terrible sound, a large animal dying, a captured demon trying to break free – the outraged cry of a newborn, thrown from the warm womb into the cold world, ending in the bewildered wail of a small child who has hurt himself for the first time. It alerted not only Graf Eberbach, but also patients, nurses, and doctors.

“Go, look after the patients. I’ll take care of my son.” The Graf sent the doctors and nurses away and entered Herr Hinkel’s room, to see the wide-shouldered silhouette of his son standing at the window. 

The Major turned when he heard the door. 

“It’s over,” He indicated the bed with his head. He looked composed, as unfazed and cold-blooded as ever. Nothing gave away that he had uttered the unholy scream just a minute before. Only his voice was rougher than usual.

The Graf looked at the silent figure in the bed, whose features had not yet begun to take on a wax-like hue, but he believed his son. If someone knew about death, it was Klaus.

“Then let’s prepare the funeral, as he told us to do.”

 

Two weeks passed. No sign from the Major.

“Important business,” Dorian said. 

“Procrastination,” Beck answered.

Dorian had told his men a short version of Herr Hinkel’s story and his last wish: The Major and Dorian becoming friends – maybe even more – if the Major agreed. The story had impressed them in several ways. John-Paul called his family after four years, when he had been thrown out for being “a pervert” – and was rebuffed again. Beck was more lucky. He asked for a leave, and returned a few days later with a mousy, elderly woman wearing sunglasses indoors that he presented as his mother.

“Finally stood up to that drunken bastard and got my mum out,” he said. Frau Beck didn’t speak a word of English, but she was an excellent cook, and she and Bethany were friends at first sight. Dorian had arranged for everything to get her out of Germany, including the forged passport.

“And what will become of us?” James asked. “How will everything go on?” He almost wished the Major would not contact Dorian, but keep his distance.

A third week had passed, and at the beginning of the fourth week, Dorian received a call.

“He died. We must talk. At the funeral.” And Dorian was listening to the dialling tone.

“The Major called,” he said to Bonham who just brought the mail in. “The brave old man has passed over, and the Major wants to talk to me at his funeral.”

“Oi’m sorry to ‘ear the old man’s dead. And when is the funeral?” Bonham asked.

“I don’t know, the Major didn’t say, but maybe he will send a letter.”

“Oi think here’s something already. Express mail.”

Bonham took an envelope with a black rim around the edges from the pile of mail. It was addressed in a bold, strong handwriting, a lot like the Major’s, but not quite. It bore the letters “HvdE” on its back. A folded card, also with a black rim around the edges, informed Dorian that Maximilian Salomon Hinkel had died on 3rd August, 1984, and that the funeral would be in two day’s time at the Jüdischer Friedhof Bergfriedhof Heidelberg at eleven o’clock. There was another card inside the envelope in the same handwriting, saying “Meet me at the Schloss. HvdE”.

James merely sighed, when Dorian told his men.

“I’m sorry for the old man. – So it’s Germany again?”

“Same procedure, Jamesie.”

Dorian flew over to Germany again. When he had landed, he drove up to Eberbach first, like Klaus’s father had asked him.

The Graf met him at the door.

“My condolences, Herr Graf,” Dorian said.

“Thank you,” Graf Eberbach answered. “We’ll take my car.”

The Jüdischer Friedhof had many tall old trees and many old gravestones. Dorian spotted the huge sculpture of a bearded head sitting on a granite gravestone.

“Karl Marx,” Graf Eberbach explained.

“Indeed? I didn’t know he was buried here,” Dorian replied.

At the small building where the coffin had been placed, a lot of people were gathered already. Dorian glimpsed several old women and men, probably friends of Herr Hinkel’s from his time in the resistance. A few younger men and a woman, probably members of the staff at the Schloss, who had been Herr Hinkel’s subordinates. He also spotted the Chief, as well as boyish-looking Agent A, rotund, curly-haired Agent B, G in an elegant black summer coat, Z looking uncomfortable in his black suit and white shirt with a black tie.

Dorian wanted to take a seat somewhere at the back, but Graf Eberbach escorted him right to the front. In the first row sat a short, plump catholic nun. Her sharp blue eyes mustered Dorian, then she gave him a friendly greeting, moved over one chair to the left and pointed to the one she had just vacated, next to – the Major. Graf Eberbach took the last remaining seat, to the right of his son.

“Good morning,” Dorian whispered to his neighbour.

The Major looked at him, his green eyes burning, as if he wanted to read Dorian’s mind.

“So you’ve come,” he said, then looked straight ahead at the coffin which stood on a small pedestal.

Dorian briefly wondered why there were no flowers and no candles; probably Herr Hinkel had wanted it so. He had briefly thought of bringing flowers, but had decided against them finally, unsure about the Jewish burial rites. He wondered as well how everything would go on.

“We will carry him to his grave,” the Major informed him, as if he had read Dorian’s thoughts. “My father and I, you and the Chief. It is his wish. Come on.”

Obediently, if surprised, Dorian rose, together with the Major and the Graf. The Chief joined them and went to the front end of the coffin, stood to the left, the Major next to him to the right. Graf Eberbach took the right rear end, so Dorian went to the left rear end.

“On my command – one-two-three – up!” Graf Eberbach whispered.

Somehow the four men managed to get the coffin up on their shoulders, although Dorian fervently wished that they had informed him about his task beforehand: He had no doubt in his own strength or the Major’s, and the Graf as well gave the impression of being strong enough, but the Chief –

//Herr Hinkel, Herr Hinkel,// Dorian thought. //What was the idea of this? Four Gojim carrying you to your grave – which we hopefully will reach without dropping your body to the ground.//

He heard Graf Eberbach whisper another command, and they began to move. At the door, the Chief got out of step, and for a moment, the coffin wobbled dangerously, but then they were safely outside and followed the wide path. The coffin and its content were heavy, but Dorian was glad the path was asphalted and it wasn’t raining. The mourners had left the hall and followed the coffin bearers. Dorian heard their steps behind him; he heard the Chief puff and mutter something under his breath.

“Some people I’d rather not see here – don’t have business here – vultures – “ Dorian overheard, but he had to keep his balance when the Chief got out of step again.

//You won’t let him fall to the ground, God, please?// he asked inwardly, //just because he chose untrained pallbearers -//

“Right,” Graf Eberbach said under his breath. The path they took now was less wide but also asphalted.

“Left and halt. Down on my command. Eins-zwei-drei!”

Without an accident, they managed to get the coffin onto two iron racks and stood aside. The Chief mopped his forehead with a red-chequered handkerchief. His face was beet red. The mourners gathered around the grave, and he looked at them rather grimly.

//What is it?// Dorian wondered when a man stepped forward and began to sing. Dorian didn’t understand the words, as it was Hebrew, but it sounded beautiful and sad at the same time, very old and yet fresh.

After the last notes of the song had ended, the Rabbi came forward and spoke about Maximilian Salomon Hinkel, told something about his life. He spoke about dark times and of the friends who had helped Max. He ended with the words of Hiob: “The Lord gave, the Lord took away. Praised be the name of the Lord.”

Dorian thought that the idea of karma and reincarnation suited him better, but he found the contentment in the words also appeal to him.

Now Graf Eberbach stepped forward. He spoke freely.

“What is friendship? Friendship is sharing – good times and bad times. To laugh and to be there with an open ear, open arms – but also to accept an open ear, open arms when they are offered. – In Max Hinkel I had a true friend – he taught me to give help and friendship, but also to accept what he gave so freely. I know I will miss his wise advice, his ability to think out of the box; he was always there, and what service he gave can never be repaid. Farewell, Max.”

He stepped back, and as the Major stepped forward, Dorian hoped that, after they surprisingly had foreseen him as a pallbearer, they would not expect him to hold a speech as well. He dismissed the thought as absurd and concentrated on the Major’s words.

Klaus von dem Eberbach stood ramrod-straight, while he sharply mustered the gathered mourners.

“As long as I can remember, Herr Hinkel has been a steady presence in my life,” he began. “He cared for me when I was too young to care for myself. He trained me and became my mentor. I miss him. He told me about his family. I never met his parents and his sister, because they have been murdered in Auschwitz. Their names were Felix Salomon, Charlotte, and Margarete Hinkel. He never forgot them. I wish for him that he can be with them now.”

The Chief nodded.

The Major stepped back, scanning the gathered mourners again, which had become restless during his speech. He obviously had stirred up a wasp nest, had apparently reminded some of the mourners of their not-so glorious past, of being silent and looking away, maybe, when their neighbours had been harassed, beaten, finally deported. Dorian heard sharp whispers and angry muttering, some people shook their heads. An old man turned abruptly and limped away, angrily shooing away a woman who hurried after him. He saw how the Major looked at the old man limping away.

“Looter!” the Chief hissed. “Was glad to see the Hinkels go to Theresienstadt – taking everything Otto and Heinz couldn’t save! A friend of the family, yes! That he dared to show his face here!””

Dorian never had seen the man this upset. It was difficult to imagine – but had the plump Chief once been a fiery young man, too? Maybe in resistance? He felt a hitherto unknown respect for the Major’s superior.

The Major’s eyes met Dorian’s. One searing look, then he lowered his gaze.

The nun stepped forward.

“Max Hinkel was no communist. He wasn’t even political. But that should change as soon as he became a member of resistance. He helped so many people – and he had connections to people who were too exposed to help us openly, but nevertheless gave great support in secret. – Max Hinkel always was a wonderful friend. There was more to him than what met the eye. Much more. – Farewell, Max.”

//An interesting speech for a nun,// Dorian thought. But then she was not your usual nun, but a former NATO agent with a licence to kill. It seemed as if she had been able to soothe flaring tempers a little. Maybe it had been the words about “people too exposed to help us openly”, Dorian thought.

The Rabbi, still a bit flustered about the commotion, said a prayer in Hebrew, and then the cantor sang again, his tenor voice carrying far over the old cemetery. When he had ended, Graf Eberbach stepped forward again, so did the Major and the Chief. They each took the ends of two ropes, lying under the head and foot end of the coffin on the two iron racks. Dorian took the last remaining end, and slowly and carefully, they lowered the coffin into the grave.

//Phew,// Dorian thought when they had finished their task successfully. The Chief was mopping his forehead again. Dorian heard him mutter something like “Always the nun, Emma, smoothing the waves”.

Beginning with the Rabbi, everybody now took three shovels of earth from the pile next to the grave and threw them onto the coffin. 

Different from other funerals Dorian had attended, the congregation didn’t dissolve at the grave already, but the people again formed a procession and in silence went back to the hall, where the coffin had been. There, the mourners went their different ways. Some went straight to the exit and probably to their cars, some stood around in small groups, talking. Graf Eberbach was speaking with the Rabbi and the cantor, the Chief was talking to the Alphabets present. Dorian, who would have to wait for the Graf anyway, joined the group and exchanged a few sentences with the Chief and the Alphabets. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw the Major standing together with the nun. She nodded and left. The Major looked at Dorian, who obediently said goodbye to the agents and went over to him.

“We must talk,” the Major said brusquely.

Without a further word, he turned right and took the path leading slightly upward between high trees to a field of old gravestones. Dorian saw that some of them were damaged. Some of the damages were old, some new. Some seemed to have been scrubbed. Dorian could make out the rest of a swastika painted on one gravestone.

The Major stood and turned, his green eyes burning into Dorian’s. 

“Telling you the truth about me – I thought it would scare you away for good. And it would be better for me. I was wrong,” he began without any preliminaries.

Dorian didn’t say anything.

The Major pointed to his chest. 

“It’s empty in here. And it hurts to know that Herr Hinkel will never come back. He has always been there. – And you – verdammte Scheiße! It’s empty here inside without you, too. – I think too often of you while I’m on a mission. This will lead to mistakes. And I cannot let that happen.”

Dorian still didn’t say anything. A light wind rustled the tree tops, ruffled the hair of the two men.

“I have thought this through. Since I cannot kill you, the only solution to the dilemma will be to have you in my life – somehow. I can’t say whether it’s the right solution – but I would give it a try – if you want to.”

“I want to give it a try, too,” Dorian answered.

The Major nodded gravely.

“So that’s settled, then. – My father will have told you what this means.”

“He did,” Dorian confirmed.

“If you aren’t up to any foolish shenanigans, you can look well after yourself,” the Major continued. “And rest assured –“ he took Dorian’s arm in a firm grip – “you will never have reason to fear me.”

Dorian nodded. The Major released his arm.

“I don’t have much of an idea at the moment – how far I want to take our relationship. But I think with time, I’ll want the sex, too.”

He looked at Dorian, a bit helpless and awkward now. Carefully, Dorian put out a hand. His fingers gently followed the contours of the Major’s face. The Major let it happen.

“We’ll work everything out as we go along,” Dorian said.

THE END


End file.
